


Last Stop to Home

by CoopPenny



Series: Feathers of a Hobbit [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Awesome Bilbo Baggins, Badass Bilbo, Crack Treated Seriously, Dancing and Singing, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hot Bilbo, Oblivious Bilbo, Poor Bilbo, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Protective Elrond, Protective Elves, Protectiveness, Reunions, Rivendell | Imladris, Scars, Swordfighting, Training, Violins, Warrior Bilbo, Wingfic, Wings, Young Bilbo Baggins, powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoopPenny/pseuds/CoopPenny
Summary: Bilbo was a fierce and seasoned warrior and had battled Orcs, Wargs and Goblins. He’d survived a war, life threatening injuries and traders in his travelling.This, Bilbo can handle but what he can’t handle are super overprotective Elves…((((NOTICE:::: NOT A STAND-ALONE STORY))))
Relationships: Arwen Undómiel & Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins & Elladan, Bilbo Baggins & Elrohir, Bilbo Baggins & Elrond Peredhel, Bilbo Baggins & Glorfindel, Bilbo Baggins & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Feathers of a Hobbit [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/550753
Comments: 13
Kudos: 121





	1. Bilbo’s return

Out of everything that Bilbo had done in his short life so far was that it certainly wasn't boring. He was 31 years old, not even classed as an adult until he's at least 33, and yet he's lead a more exciting and terrible lifestyle than most Hobbits, and some Men, would ever think of living.

While heart-ache and loss had followed Bilbo in his life, his father passing due to an unrelenting cold winter, his mother being killed by Orcs and later avenged by Bilbo, saving people, meeting all kinds of creatures, friendly or otherwise and he belonged to a Flock of Eagles called the Eagles of Manwë. He'd also received many scars, gone to war, experiencing many horrors, including witnessing the death of his mother. But, despite all of this, he could say that he'd lived.

Taking a year of travel when they'd won the war, he spent that time in revisiting friends and making new ones. Now, he was headed for the rolling green hills, his stomach churning in nervousness and anticipation despite knowing what would happen in the long-run.

He'd been told by his mother when he was younger about why the truly left the protected and shielded place of The Shire. The gentlefolk, smiling and happy, respectable and unabashed to adventurous Hobbits, finding that security was all they truly needed in life. An abundance of food and a healthy dose of safety, had the Hobbits going soft and unable to defend themselves, happy with the normal life of farming and making doilies, ignorant to the mystery outside their borders.

With all of that knowledge, Bilbo instantly knew that no one in the entire Hobbit community would ever be able to understand his current situation or the nightmares he finds himself waking up and screaming over, fear gripping his heart and unchecked tears streaming down his face. They wouldn't understand his inability to stomach seven meals a day, or the weapons he carried, the languages he used, or the scars that he bore. His wings and Phoenix heritage was unknown and strange in a place where strange things were not accepted.

He'd be an outcast. A disgrace. An oddity picked out of the crowds of thousands.

In all honesty, Bilbo had no wish to go there. Had no wish to live there for the rest of his life. The only reason he would go was because he made a promise, a final promise to his mother before she died in his arms, that he would discover his roots, that he would learn about the place that his father had loved, that both of his parents had been born in and found happiness in before it was ruined.

With that promise in mind, Bilbo allowed himself to compromise with a test of a year of living like a normal Hobbit, in a Smial, a colourful round door, a boring lifestyle with no weapons and no defence. Basically sitting ducks for all to see...

Rolling his eyes slightly at his dramatic thoughts, Bilbo carried on walking towards his destination, having gotten to the location within a week when he flew on cloudy days and walked on the clear ones. He was actually very excited for his visit, a last stop until he was finally in The Shire and among other Hobbits, as he hadn't been there in over eight years, Bilbo losing contact with them during the war and only having sent them a raven informing them of Bella's death until he was swept up into the horrors of war and mayhem.

As he neared the Last Homely House, or what was commonly named as Rivendell, he wondered if they would be mad at him. If they would blame him for the death of his mother. If they would find him unworthy of carrying her sword that he kept beside his own.

Doubts and fears clouded his mind as he neared, on some occasions, he nearly turned around and abandoned his ambition to see his Elven friends again, the ones who taught him Sandarian, the ones who taught him how to shoot a bow. He wondered if they would like his hand-crafted bow if it would impress them as much as he loved it.

Breathing deeply in an attempt to control his swirling thoughts, Bilbo marched onward. Soon he was close enough to admire the architecture and design of the palace, carvings and fountains, along with naturally made waterfalls contributing to the natural beauty of it all. He lost his spiralling train of thought to turn around and never face the Elves that were great friends with his mother, as he took in the familiar setting around him, remembering when he was nothing but a curious Fauntling, wishing that he was tall enough to take more of it in.

Before he was even aware of it, he'd come close enough to the Eleven Home to be spotted by some passers-by. Most greeted him with a nod of their heads, respectful and graceful as Elves always were and some stared down at him with shocked bewilderment, eyes darting down to his exposed feet to make sure. It was true that Hobbit's didn’t venture far outside their borders, it would make sense that they would be shocked at setting their eyes upon such a reserved and shy creature.

Bilbo could only smile back politely. He remembered visiting many times before he and Belladonna had set up a home with the Eagles and Bilbo knew that he'd changed a lot; his age and taint of war changing him from a bight-eyed Fauntling to a battle-hardened warrior.

However, there was an increase in a sight that completely baffled him. As he continued further into the Last Homely Home, he'd see Elves looking his way, an unreadable expression in their eyes as they tried to talk to him, Bilbo had to extract himself from the conversation to continue on his way. Even some female Elves had taken to doing such a thing, batting their eyelashes at him as they spoke to him in soft tones, creeping closer to him before he could escape once again. It was a confusing ordeal and Bilbo couldn't remember a time in his childhood visiting Rivendell where the Elves acted as they did now. Perhaps it was a change in attitude with a new generation? Bilbo had learnt that from many Man villages that each generation had different views on how the world should and could work, one looking for family and another looking for money to sustain their family. Yeah, that was definitely it, a change in generational views.

Halfway there, Bilbo suddenly happened upon a friendly face, urban hair casting a fiery illusion in the mid-afternoon sun, soft green eyes like oak-leaves to Bilbo's emerald jewelled eyes. She was his best friend, besides the Princely twins; she was young for an Elf, her life barely started in the eyes of others and her smile was care-free and war and battle had been too few and far between for any true damage or nightmares to have taken place. She was a child, just as much as Bilbo had once been, he could only guess on how she saw him now.

Dark thoughts only had a second to take place before, he was spotted. When oaken-green met emerald eyes, her eternally youthful features had twisted into confusion, eyes looking him over with a frown on her face - trying to remember him. Not a second later, her expression cleared as her smile grew to a miraculous brightness, eyes shining with recognition and joy as she gazed upon her childhood friend.

"Bilbo!" she practically squealed as she picked him up, swinging him around in her arms; making the Hobbit laugh outright.

"Gwendoline!" Bilbo shouted back, unable to resist a bubbling, bright, laugh when she finally set him down, practically vibrating with happiness.

She shook her head, her smile never leaving her features as she looked at her Hobbit friend, "It's been too long, my friend. Much too long. What has kept you at a great distance for so long?" she asked, her speech respectable but her tone shone with nearly contagious happiness. Suddenly, her smile was swept away like a cold breeze, a frown of concern marring her delicate features as her long, nimble, fingers brushed at his lengthened hair, exposing the deep scarring over his eye, mostly being conveniently covered by his curled hair. "Bilbo..." she breathed like a thousand heartbreaks in one, "What happened to you?" she then looked about, having finally noticed the absence of the older Hobbit, "Where's Bella?"

Immediately, Bilbo's wide smile was swept away, a pained expression coming to his features as he looked down, stepping back from his friend's loosened grip as he looked away from her. Shame and longing filled his chest like a painful reminder at what he'd lost and the consequence of war and hatred.

"'Bo?" came his old childhood nickname, the voiced name trying to reach the deepest parts of him.

Looking up, Bilbo's attempted smile fell flat as he looked up at his friend, his eyes watering for a split second before he blinked the tears away. It was strange how old emotions could come rushing back in an instant, the pain of moving past the old emotions being a trivial thing to overcome once again.

Swiftly, Bilbo took up his friend's hands and squeezed the unblemished skin with his rough and scarred padded fingers - unknowingly drawing attention to his other old injuries - as he gave Gwendoline a faulty smile once again, "My friend, a lot has happened since the last time we crossed paths and it wasn't the most pleasant of events either. What I can say, is that my mother has been returned to the earth in which she was born and her death has been avenged. But rest assured, I will explain more so, later."

The nod was tentative and hesitant, her green eyes flickering over his face, stopping for a fracture of a second on the scars and old injuries that could be seen, her concern growing with each one she managed to count.

"My Lord will not be pleased by your suffering, Bilbo," Gwendoline stated gravely, "He will seek to destroy your enemies for you once he sees the injuries that you've gathered."

Sighing, Bilbo nodded, knowing just how overprotective Elrond could be when it came to Bilbo and Belladonna. He still remembered a time when he had visited before, (his mother having left Elrond to babysit a young Bilbo while she dealt with business elsewhere) and he'd been playing with the twins, only to painfully twist his ankle when he fell over a tree root. Bilbo didn't think he'd ever seen the stoic and graceful Lord so dishevelled and panicked as he dashed Bilbo off to the healing halls, carrying the child Hobbit like a glass egg; Bilbo hadn't even cried at the incident, too in shock over Elrond's reaction and by the twins' faces, it was something new to them as well.

"You're also nearly at the age of receiving suitors as well," Gwendoline commented casually, a thoughtful expression on her face, "I wasn't born when Lady Awen and Lords Elladan and Elrohir came to age, but I was told by my mother that Lord Elrond was only controlled by his late wife when those times occurred."

In response, Bilbo raised an eyebrow at his friend, before he shook his head, "You forget a key factor, my friend," he smirked slightly, "I am not Elrond's child."

"True." she nodded, skilfully suppressing her own smirk, the devious twinkle not going unnoticed by Bilbo, "But you are now his ward and before, you were a dear family friend that he practically adored.”

Shaking his head, Bilbo could only sigh as he smiled slightly, knowing that he couldn't convince the Elf otherwise and started to walk in the direction of the palace where he knew that his family friends resided. They chatted as they walk side by side, laughing and recalling the good times as they walked, Gwendoline talking about her time in Rivendell and Bilbo revealing a bit of what he'd seen on his adventures, curbing the words of 'war' with 'small battles' instead, not wanting to concern his friend.

When they finally stood outside of the palace doors, it would appear that someone had informed Lord Elrond and the twins of his arrival as they stood outside of their home, with waiting grins of greeting.

"Bilbo!" the twins shouted with joy once he'd gotten close enough, both of them charging forth and wrapping him in a warm hug, chittering about in Sandarian excitedly, Bilbo speaking it back to them with warmth in his eyes.

When the brothers finally released Bilbo, the Hobbit looked towards Elrond, finding a familiar sadness within his eyes, a knowing of loss that he'd outlived another friend, but was relieved to see Bilbo once again. Stepping forward, Bilbo bowed his head in shame before he loosened his mother's sword from his belt, his thumb caressing the worn handle before he held it out for Elrond to see. There was a moment of silence before Bilbo spoke up, taking every ounce of his will to keep his voice from cracking with his near-overwhelming emotions, "I am sorry, Lord Elrond. In the time that my mother and I were outside your walls, we found a safe place to call home, made friends, family and bickered as brothers with those around me. I let my guard down. And in my foolishness, an Orc Pack attacked us, my mother receiving an arrow to her chest. She died fighting, and she didn't go down alone... I offer you her sword. As her greatest friend, you have never failed her as I had done that day. You are far more deserving of this than I am, or will ever be." he finished, not able to keep a stray tear from rolling down his cheek, but he didn't dare look at the devastated Lord that was his mother's best friend.

Instead of the harsh words that Bilbo had expected, a warm hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing lightly in a silent encouragement to look up. Timidly, Bilbo raised his gaze to the worried look of the Lord, his crystal blue eyes staring into the depths of his soul, sad and welcoming in his gaze.

"You are as honourable as your mother, Bilbo Baggins," Elrond nodded gravely, "And I will not see her sword departed from someone as worthy as her own son, which she had always planned on gifting to you. Belladonna Baggins nee Took's sword, Burn, is with its rightful owner and I would be doing no such favour by snatching it from my ward." he smiled down at Bilbo, as the young warrior stood back up, securing his mother's sword back onto his belt. Anyone with eyes could see how relieved the Hobbit was as not having to part with his mother's possession.

Nodding, Bilbo smiled and was about to thank Elrond when he stopped, something coming to mind. With a side look at Gwendoline, who was hiding a smirk beneath her hand, Bilbo looked back at the Eleven Lord, "Thank you, Lord Elrond... Did you just say that I was your ward?" he asked, not willing to beat about the bush as he stared up that the Lord through his eyelashes.

Elrond nodded, a broad smile coming into place as he looked down at his new 'ward', smile faltering when his vigilant eyes took in the scars that Bilbo was attempting to conceal, the one on his face pocking out mockingly from Bilbo's blonde curls. "Yes. Your mother was my dearest friend and she had once told me that should anything happen to her, I would be in charge of caring for you. I only wish that I had found out sooner, or I would have retrieved you myself, instead of you travelling here on your lonesome." Elrond explained before he stood up straight, a gentle hand upon Bilbo's silky curls as he looked down at his new ward fondly with a hint of concern, before he turned to his sons, "Elladan, Elrohir, I trust you to accompany Bilbo to his room, should he be tired after his journey."

"Of course, father." both of them nodded simultaneously.

With that, the twins swarmed over to Bilbo, picking him up between the two of them as they started to chat to him, one half of a conversation on his left ear and the other half in his right, both of them making up just one conversation. Bilbo couldn't help but roll his eyes, complying with the twins and answering the questions that he could make out from the conversation - a hard trait, if Bilbo did say so himself.

As they walked through the training fields, picking at Bilbo's clothes and the languages he'd learnt, as well as his weapons, they continued to walk into the small wooded area where they spent most of their time in the past conspiring against Lanoir's sanity and the servants of the palace.

Bilbo knew, just from that, that it was going to be just like old times.

* * *

While Bilbo was reliving his childhood with the twins and Gwendoline joining soon after her other duties would be complete, Elrond walked as briskly as a graceful Elven Lord would dare to.

Swiftly and efficiently, Elrond bypassed all those that tried to interrupt his fast stride and within five minutes, Elrond was closing and locking the large oaken door to his private study and breathed out a sigh of breathy relief. It would not do to have his subjects witness his breaking foundations at the sight of the boy, who often called him 'Uncle' on his visits. Now, seeing Bilbo after all these years, he could see how the boy had gone through so much, the loss of his mother appearing too costly if his appearance was to say anything.

What Elrond saw was not the happy, curious, adorable Hobbit child that drove his palace servants crazy with his witty pranks and still give him an abundance of sweets in the evenings. No. What he saw was a grown warrior in place of a child. Elrond had seen eyes like Bilbo's before, the Hobbit's emerald green orbs swirling chaotically with his past battles and horrors of war. The boy hadn't even reached his maturity age and he looked like an aged soul - although, Elrond had no idea if a child, who was part Phoenix, was matured at the age 33 - his youthful features contrasting with his horror-filled eyes all the more.

And the scars...

Oh, Great Lady, the scars...

Unfortunately, Elrond had only seen a small bit of Bilbo's face, the lengthy honey-coloured curls of his hair covering the evidence of past physical pain. Over his eye was a large scar, missing his eye by mere millimetres with a clear intent to kill young Bilbo where he'd stood. The scar was an attempt of murder, making Elrond not only loose one friend by his friend's son that he'd promised to protect in her steed. Elrond had seen the scars on the little skin he exposed, not a major as the scar marking his face, but still there and it chilled him to his very bones at the thought of a tapestry of scars along the young boy's small torso.

The sight that really scared Elrond was that of when Bilbo offered up his mother's sword to him, arms minutely shaking with clashing emotions and Elrond only wanted to wrap up the small Hobbit and keep him safe from the dangerous and unfair world around him. Nothing so pure and innocent should ever have to suffer a pain as great as that...

Elrond's robes seemed to ripple beneath him as he sat down on his chair, the palms of his hands pressed firmly into his eyes as he sighed. As he leaned back, Elrond considered his next steps in concerning Bilbo. Training would be next to useless in preparing the boy for danger now, he'd learnt as a warrior and by the looks of things, the two swords and the well-hand-crafted bow and arrows were not Bilbo's only source of weapons. The fact that a Hobbit could possess and use either of those items just went to show how protected and trained Bilbo was when it came to other Hobbits. Elrond had little to no doubt that Bilbo had mastered all of his weapons that he had at his possession, including those of which he'd been naturally gifted with.

Pride swelled up in Elrond's chest at that thought, knowing that Bilbo was trained and had taken up a choice of weapon that Elrond had complete influence over.

Suddenly, Elrond's mind came to a screeching halt as his mind absently thought of something, something that Elrond had hated to endure through when it was his own children going through the process.

Bilbo was at a certain age where he would be most desired and being as unique in his warrior ways for such a docile species, as well as wondering about unlike others of his kind. Bilbo was a very handsome lad, his honey blonde curls bounced about him like threads of gold, turning a fierce glow in the sunlight, his emerald eyes bright and unlike any other colour of green that many have ever seen, dancing jewels within his eyes. He was also slim for a Hobbit, his lack of seven meals and his choice of life, making him stronger and flat-stomached compared to his fellow brethren, who sort to have a large gut to show off their wealth and good food they had in their possession.

Bilbo was also kind and gentle, as well as fierce and prideful in his warrior ways.

Indeed, Bilbo was a catch in many areas that people were looking for and Elrond wouldn't doubt that many Elves, who weren't averse to perusing relationships to that of a different species, were already plotting to gain Bilbo's hand in marriage with the act of courting.

Groaning in a surprisingly un-Elf-like manner, Elrond looked to his ceiling and silently pleaded for something to help him fend off those pursuers from snatching but his young Bilbo. This was Bella laughing at him right here...


	2. Table manners

Being back at Rivendell was like a trip down memory lane.

Bilbo knew all the turns, all the best hiding places, he knew the forests around the palace like the back of his hand, and he knew where he was now.

With a hammering heart, threatening to burst through his chest, Bilbo took a deep calming breath before he placed his hand on the cool metal of the spiral door handle, ignoring his trembling hands. Gingerly, Bilbo opened the door, only daring to open a small gap, in the door, a gap that he quickly slipped through and closed the door, a resounding click seeming too loud in the calm of the room.

Looking around with curious eyes, Bilbo took in everything. He took in the stainless large windows, the lowered bad, the desk impeccably clean with a closed ink-pot and feather parallel to the edge of the oaken table. A pattern of oak leaves and the autumn colour was the rooms general design, wooden leaves, delicately carved and ingrained with patterns of silver and gold, meandered around the room, seeming to blow a trail of wooden leaves across the walks and a little on the ceiling. The sight made Bilbo smile. She had always loved oak trees, telling Bilbo how strong and stubborn they were, "As stubborn as your father was with all his cleaning. No stain was safe from that man." she'd chuckle with a wistful smile, eyes swirling with memories of the past. Bilbo could only think of the Oak Tree that Bilbo had buried her under, the same roots that Belladonna had buried her husband among when he had died. The oak tree was always Bilbo's favourite too.

Carefully stepping about his mother's room, Bilbo lightly sat on her bed, his hand sweeping over the soft covers that his mother used to sleep in. Covers that she'd never sleep in again...

Shaking his head, Bilbo immediately banished the thought from his mind before he laid down, ignoring the uncomfortable way his bow pressed into his shoulders as he laid on it.

A few minutes went by in this fashion, Bilbo staring up at the ceiling, eyes misty with flashes of memories, good and bad, as he absentmindedly traced the handle of his mother's sword with his fingers. Oh, Yavanna... His mother was an amazing woman and Bilbo could only be happy that he got as much time with her as he did. He remembered, in their early days of travel, when his mother looked ill, like a ghost wearing her away and she cried every night by the campfire light, unaware that Bilbo had woken up, mourning and calling for her husband. She had been dying of heart-break, Bilbo knew now, but she overcame even that and managed to live for Bilbo, for Bungo.

Eyes scanning over the darkening window, Bilbo quickly hefted himself up from the comfortable bed and made his way to the door, his fingers tracing the oaken surfaces as he did so. However, as he passed his mother's old desk, his eyes caught upon something that he'd missed before when he walking into the room. A folded envelop perched against the wall, his name decorated the front in black cursive writing, beckoning him to open it.

Casting another look out the window, it would do him good to be late to dinner that Elrond and the twins had been overjoyed with him attending for the first time in years.

Quickly, Bilbo snatched up the letter and cradled it in gentle hands, before he quietly made his way out of his mother's room and down the hall, heading into his own. His room was much the same state as Bella's, the surfaces dust-free and the items left not even an inch out of place from where he'd placed them years ago. His room was decorated with oak furniture but a fiery theme seemed to have taken over the walls, feathers having been carved into his walls, spots of ember drifting off of them. Looking at his ceiling, Bilbo couldn't help but grin as he gazed at the light blue colours, clouds sprawled along with the endless blue like a comforting blanket that only covered a portion of it, a few small birds spotted across the canvas in different positions of flight. Closing his eyes, Bilbo could practically here the small chirps of the birds outside, making him small all the more.

Setting down the envelope delicately on his bed-side table, Bilbo started to peel his travel clothes off of his skin, grimacing at the crusted and itchy material, glad to be rid of it. Free of his weapons that hung on his shoulders and his several layers of clothes, Bilbo turned his head to look at himself in the long looking glass as he freed his wings from their glamour. Instantly, fire licked out of the splayed feathers of his wings, stretching and flexing after such a long time in being concealed away.

Slightly, Bilbo smiles as his reflection, his wings of full display, his battle wounds bared to the world, all of that which he had survived clear as day in the white and red lines of his scars. As much as he disliked the scars that he now bared like a burden, Bilbo couldn't find fault in the evidence of survival that the scars clearly showed. Eyes tracing down the arches of his wings, the shifting muscles in his back, and, as he let his wings relax, the feathers teasingly brushing the floor, he took note of the few bent feathers, some of them ruffled and untidy. He needed a good grooming. Perhaps one of the twins wouldn't mind in doing so?

Throwing his shirts into the corner of the room, later to be collected and washed by either him or the servants of the palace, Bilbo tucked his wings loosely close to his back again and walked over to the dresser, opening up the doors and smiling down at the clothes selection.

Immediately, he changed his brown, thread-bare trousers for those of a softer material, wooden brown, that went down to his mid-calf, hugging his legs in a comfortable fashion.

After securing them at the strings on the front, Bilbo was about to pull out a soft white shirt when a knock came at the door. But just as Bilbo was about to call for them to wait a moment, the door was opened and a young Elf maiden stepped in through the door, a hospitable smile on her face until she came to a rigid halt. Not a second later, her deep brown eyes went wide and her cheeks reddened as she took in the form of Bilbo's naked chest and arms.

"Oh!" she shook herself out of it, looking down at the floor, but Bilbo still noticed her eyes flickering up to him, "I am ever so sorry, Sir! I meant not to offend you." she hurriedly said as she wrung her hands together, her face turning a deep red.

"It's fine," Bilbo shrugged; when one travelled as much as he did, people seeing you shirtless wasn't as horrifying as it was the first few times, "Did you need something?" he asked as he put on his shirt, working out his wings through the provided holes in the back. Looking back up, Bilbo frowned in confusion when the Elf only stared at him, eyes transfixed on his folding wings and roaming about his now-covered chest. He couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable, "Miss?"

"Oh!" she blinked again, eyes focusing back on Bilbo's face, eyes flickering to the scar on his face as he manipulated the right side of his copper curls into a messy horizontal braided to keep it out of his eyes, "I'm here to inform you that Lord Elrond is awaiting your arrival at dinner in a few minutes."

Giving the girl a brilliant smile, Bilbo nodded, "Right. Thank you, Miss."

Turning back to his draw, Bilbo picked up a worn red leather vest that he hadn't worn in years, before sliding it on, his wings once again going through the holes. As he was buttoning up the front, he looked up and was surprised to see the Elven girl still there, red-faced.

"Was there something else?" Bilbo asked, politely.

"Er..." the Elf hesitated, "My- My name is Velateen.” she curtsied.

“Bilbo Baggins, but please call be Bilbo if preferable," the Hobbit bowed respectfully, "It's a pleasure to meet you. But I'm afraid that I must go now, but we can continue our conversation at a later date, yes?"

Quickly, the Elf nodded, a wide, giddy smile consuming her face as he waved and bided, “Goodbye Bilbo." down the hallway as he left.

While Bilbo was frowning at the odd interaction (he didn't remember Elves being so... hesitant), the she-Elf went back to the kitchens with a skip in her step and a song in her voice, excited to tell her other servant friends about the dreamy Hobbit that she had gotten a chance to talk to. 

* * *

Walking through the old Elven halls, all of them exactly the same, everything frozen in time within the walls of the palace. This made Bilbo both hate and love the place: he could see the table, in which, he accidentally knocked over when he crashed into the table, having been trying to escape an angry Lindir, making Bilbo laugh in fondness and gratitude of such a lively and innocent memory; he could see the cushioned shelf near the window, a spot that his mother would fervently read well into the night, only putting down the books for the sunrises that she so loved, making a lump clog in Bilbo's throat, a painful and bitter thing to swallow.

Nonetheless, Bilbo travelled down the hall with happiness that he hadn't felt since before the war, a small bounce in his step as he let his wings ruffle and shift to show his excitement - the only ones staring at him, where the ones that he hadn't seen around the palace before. He felt free, at peace in where he belonged, confident and knowing that he would not be turned away in his show of extraordinary origin. Bilbo was even happy to note that he was stopped by a few of the new Elves, male and female, enquiring about him and smiling politely, before he had to excuse himself from the conversation quickly (if he were to look behind him when he left the conversation, he would have frowned in confusion as to why the Elf looked so upset about his short departure).

"Bilbo!" cheered a musical voice, seeming soothingly calm and excited at the same time.

"Arwen!" Bilbo cheered in turn, spreading his arms out, along with his wings.

With smiles upon both of their faces, the green cloaked Elf Maiden crouched down slightly as she enveloped Bilbo into a soft hug - the fact that her hands squeezed his biceps lightly, the only indication that she had truly missed him a lot. Looking up, Bilbo couldn't help the gentle smile appearing to his face as he looked up at the impressive woman before him: strong, mighty, and fierce, in every way that Bilbo could possibly think of. She was stunning in her rider's cloak, brandishing it upon her shoulders like a well-earned medal, her dark brown hair, a colour of which reminded him of the tree's trunk, draped over her shoulder, some of it being pulled back by an elegant, yet simple, clasp. In an instant, Bilbo could tell that whatever life she was leading now, it was one that suited her well.

"You look amazing, my Lady," he swept himself into an elegant bow, plucking her hand like a true gentleman as he kissed the back of it, smirking up at her, "As always."

Her only response was a thinly raised eyebrow, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Yes," she spoke with a lilt of amusement to her tone, "I was told that you have turned into quite the charmer. Though, I wonder," she put on a faux thoughtful expression, "At what time will you attempt to swap my washing oils with that of dirtied rain and mud, shall I ask?"

Bilbo hummed, a mischievous twinkle lighting up his green orbs like the sun gazing through a crystal, "Not much could ever get passed you, my Lady." he gave the Elf a wide genuine smile, "It is good to see you again, my friend."

A gentle smile reached Arwen's lips, curving the pink softness up at the corners, her eye shining with love and happiness as she gazed down at her favourite Hobbit, "And I, you."

"Bilbo," greeted Elrond as Bilbo strayed further on the balcony, in full view of Elrond, the twins and two empty seats (for Arwen and Bilbo, of course), "I am happy that you are able to join us for this fine evening. I hope that you are finding your old quarters to what you suffice." he smiled before gesturing to one of the seats, "Please, sit down."

At that Bilbo sat down, his muscles unconsciously relaxing at the softness of the seat, something he hadn't felt in years. A small smile coming to his face, Bilbo nodded his thanks to the servant Elves when they placed a plentiful plate of food before him, filling his cup up three-quarters of the way with red wine - something Bilbo had never had in his visits as a child before he and his mother had settled down with the Eagles.

He looked up and smiled at Elrond with a raised eyebrow, amused, "Thank you for the wine, Elrond. It will add to a list of many firsts."

Elrond’s smile was warm as he looked down at his Hobbit charge, nodding his head, catching onto the Hobbit’s trail of thought, “Yes, you have certainly grown since I last saw you, though not by much.”

Amused, Bilbo raised a slim eyebrow as he took a small sip of his glass, “Is that a short joke I hear?”

“Perhaps.” Elrond rose a thin eyebrow as he hid his small smirk behind his silver cup, sipping the sweet liquid.

Chuckling at his friend’s antics, Bilbo rose the liquid to his own lips, smiling in pleasant surprise when the elven wine danced across his tongue, intriguing every taste bud and leaving him with a refreshed feeling as it slid easily down his lightly parched throat. The meal continued as the food was brought out, warm bread and a variety of vegetables filling the cravenness of the wide table before the crumbs were taken away and replaced by steaming meats of all variety and enchanting seasoning over them, all of the dishes different in their own way. Eagerly, Bilbo took as much as his plate would feel, suppressing an inappropriate moan as the seasoning flavours burst against his tongue. After so long on the road, meals with such sweet and rich flavours were as uncommon as a dragon willingly parting with their hoard; most of the meals that Bilbo had were dull in flavour, watery stews and leathery meats with stale bread. The change of the same bland tastes in his mouth had Bilbo’s mouth-watering and made him want to cry out in protest when he found that his stomach was sickeningly full after only a few bites - his small stomach being more of an inconvenience than convenience at this point in time.

After the fine dining was over, Bilbo sat back in his cushioned chair slightly as he smiled at the friends that he hadn’t seen in far too many years. Before he had arrived, Bilbo had furiously worried that he had changed too much, or that, perhaps, his Elven friends had changed since his last parting, leaving their interaction much to be desired. However, Bilbo’s worrying had been for nought as he found himself easily slipping into their conversations and light banter, making him smile easier at the simplicity of it.

“So, Bilbo, what are you going to do now?” Elrond inquired, curious as to what Bilbo had in mind, now that he was back in his original ‘neck of the woods’.

“Before her passing, my mother expressed a desire for me to return to The Shire, relearn my roots and to remind myself that I am a Hobbit, first and foremost,” Bilbo gave a small, sad smile, remembering his promise that he’d made to her oak tree grave, “I thought that I may as well stop for a visit before heading to The Shire.”

There was a small pause of silence as Elrond looked down at his pseudo nephew, elegant eyebrow raised, “And how long do you intend to stay there, may I ask?”

“Whatever do you mean, my Lord?” Bilbo questioned his young face a picture of perfect innocence.

At this, Elrond stared a little bit more before he spoke in his native tongue, knowing full well that Bilbo would understand him, “You may not realise this, my ward, but I know you and you have the same bearing of that of your mother, though, admittedly, your’s is more intense than her’s ever was. You bare within your soul, a burn for adventure, a burn for travel along the road and in search of different cultures and connections - you thirst for these things. A prolonged life in The Shire was something that was just not meant for you. Their sensibilities and dislike of the world beyond would not admire them to you.”

“I shall cross that bridge when I get to it,” Bilbo stated sternly, not wanting to discuss the inevitable-to-fail mission that his mother wanted him to complete. But he sighed, regretting his harsh tone as soon as he said to them, “I know… But I have decided to compromise as such and settle within The Shire for a limited time before travelling once again. When I leave, I have not decided on where to go yet. Possibly the Blue Mountains? Or perhaps further?” Bilbo tilted his head, letting some of his curls fall from his face to reveal the long scar down his eye, but he took no mind to the brief exposure as he shook his head and sighed, “As I said, I’ll think about it later.”

“Very well,” Elrond conceded, “But I wish to offer you the option of staying here, in Riverdell. You are underage and I consider you my family, no matter the different races, and would like you to consider staying here. At least until you are of proper age by Hobbit standards - though I don’t believe that your particular mix of species matches up with the maturity of your primary species.”

“Yes, I recognise this, Elrond,” Bilbo nearly rolled his eyes at the Elf’s overprotective tendencies, but stopped himself just in time. Despite this, Elrond seemed to know what Bilbo wanted to do as he narrowed his eyes slightly at the small being, “However, mentally, I am very mature. There is no need to fear for my safety.”

“Bilbo,” Elrond stated, looking down at the small Hobbit with meaning in his eyes, “I can allow you to go to travel to your heart's content, but I cannot allow myself to cease worrying about you and your safety. Do not ask me to forsake that concern.”

There was a small, charged silence as the Elves of the table looked to Bilbo and then Elrond, both of whom maintained intense eye contact. Then Bilbo nodded and broke the tension, “I understand. Thank you, for your concern.” Bilbo smiled shyly up at Elrond, a slight blush to his cheeks. Unbeknownst to Bilbo, was that the surrounding Elves looked completely startled at the utterly cute display, so much so that one of the passing servers tripped and quite inelegantly fell over, causing a loud clatter.

Immediately, Bilbo leapt into motion before he even knew that he was helping. Touching the Elf, a young male with long dark hair and intelligent, aged eyes, Bilbo questioned, “Are you alright?”

The Elf seemed to startle at the contact, a faint blush coming to his face for a split second before he visibly composed himself and nodded. Without further ado, Bilbo helped the Elf to his feet, though he surely didn’t need it from such a smaller being, Bilbo felt it was a courteous thing to do. When the Elf was on his feet, Bilbo leaned down to help him gather everything that he’d dropped, which was a silver tray with a few bits of food placed upon it. Handing the tray back, Bilbo grinned teasingly, “It’s nice to know that Elves can still be graceful, even when they fall on accident.”

In response the elf blushed again, a small smile making its way to his lips and was about to briskly take his leave when he found himself looking into those emerald jewels that were the beautiful Hobbit’s eyes and found himself blurting out, “My name is Aymon.”

Bilbo smiled charmingly up at the Elf, causing many-a-hearts to skip a beat within eyesight of it, “Bilbo Baggins. It was nice to meet you.”

“Y-Yes,” Aymon briefly stuttered, though Bilbo was respectful enough not to point it out or react to it, “It was very nice to meet you and I hope to do so again.”

“As do I.” Bilbo nodded.

Aymon found himself opening his mouth with the idea of asking the intriguing being out to the local tavern so that they could get to know one another a little better. Aymon knew that he would be able to wow the Hobbit with old stories, in which he was more valiant and graceful than his fall on the floor. But then he happened to look over the Hobbit’s head and to the Lord’s table, finding himself nearly choking then withering under the dark, murderous gaze of Elrond and the twins, promises of death and a life of misery shining in those dangerous eyes. The combination of all three intense glares from so many high standing Elves had Aymon sweating and then looking down at the adorable, beautiful, oblivious Hobbit with a sense of regret as he bowed slightly and bided a fast farewell before he was speeding from the scene. The Hobbit was cute, but Aymon found that the dragons were far too fierce and terrifying to face...

Confused and wondering if he’d done something wrong, Bilbo’s eyes followed after the strange Elf before he turned questioning eyes to Elrond, the twins and Arwen. He frowned when Arwen looked to be smothering a smile of amusement behind her wine, the other three not looking suspicious in the least. With one last confused glance to where the Elf had fled, Bilbo returned to the table, intent on putting the whole ordeal from his mind as he smiled and chattered more about his adventures since he’d last visited.


	3. Mischief and parties

“Green is definitely your colour, Bilbo,” Arwen smiled down at her pseudo cousin, eyes alight with mirth as Bilbo pouted up her, obviously hating every minute of it. Arwen couldn’t help the joy that filled her when she looked down at her young friend, delighting in the fact that he’d decided to pin his curly fringe of hair back so that it was completely out of his eyes. He’d pinned it back ever since Lord Elrond had confronted Bilbo about the act and the young Hobbit had simply explained that most feel unnerved by the sight of it on someone so small and young, especially the villages of men and women (the Dwarrow only seemed to show Bilbo more respect when they saw it). After a thorough chastise of telling the small Hobbit that past injuries were nothing to be ashamed of, Bilbo had conceded and had started to pin his copper curls away from his face. Arwen thought that the reveal of his face made Bilbo look all the more beautiful, his eyes clear and sparkling in the lowest of lights like the loveliest jewels of emerald, and his wild curls, pinning back as they were, framed his face in a more pleasing way that Arwen admired. Bilbo sure was a pretty little Hobbit and a lot of Elves were taking notice of him, much to her father and brothers’ dismay.

Bilbo frowned up at her for the comment, before looking curiously down at himself, eyeing the silken, long robes that were bright forest green and was in a pattern that resembled leaves, black trousers being altered to reach his mid-calf (as was traditional Hobbit-dress). “I don’t know…” Bilbo muttered, looking up at Arwen with some level of uncertainty, “This design reminds me of the Mirkwood Elves… That had not been a fun adventure…” he rolled his eyes upon reflecting back to the annoying King and his pretentious crown.

“You met our distant cousin’s of the Old Forest?” Arwen questioned, looking surprised and then filling with understanding, “I admit, they are not as… pleasant as the Elves of Rivendell.”

“Tell me about it…” Bilbo drawled, shifting when the seamstress did a bit more needlework in his arms, using small pins as markers in the clothing, “The King nearly threw me in his dungeons because I ‘dared to trespass’. Thankfully, a friend of mine was able to save me before things got too serious…” Bilbo glared something fierce, he knew that he was of the same height as a common Dwarf (if a bit smaller), but that was no excuse in belittling him for racial similarities in their own language in front of him. They were very shocked when Bilbo interrupted them in a sharp and clipped tone of their language… Overall, it had not been a pleasant experience.

“What were you doing in that dreadful forest of all places, my friend?” Arlen demanded, most alarmed at the dangers that were said to have filled it under the neglect of the Elvish King.

“My friend resided there. He prefers a different company to humans, but was nonetheless intrigued by me, enough so to call me friend quite fondly,” Bilbo explained, “But as I decided to take a small walk, I got quite lost and as then faced with giant spiders. I managed to fight them off before they could take me until the Elves came to relieve me of the remaining fiends, but then they bound my arms and called me a ‘criminal’… I do not recommend another visit…” Bilbo drawled, looking up at Arwen with a deadpanned stare, making the timeless being laugh, a sound akin to ringing bells emitting from her throat.

“I do hope you taught him a lesson on proper common courtesy?” Arwen teased knowing that despite Bilbo had been raised away from The Shire, he was still very much a Hobbit and manners were a thing that Bella made sure to drill into Bilbo’s head until his sensitive ears were ringing.

“I did one better,” Bilbo replied, looking perfectly smug as he shifted his arms forward as the seamstress asked, “I stole his stupid crown and ran away.” Bilbo grinned outright then as the two Elves froze and stared at him with huge, surprised eyes. Bilbo remembered that moment fondly, the Elven King Thranduil had not been a pleasant being to talk to, a look in his eyes as he lounged upon his throne that rubbed Bilbo the wrong way. His mere speech and tone was condescending and abrasive, making Bilbo wonder why such a rude and arrogant man had taken up the mantel of ‘King’ in the first place. When his friend had gotten him out of that little pickle, none of the Elves had even deemed him a small voice or expression of apology for his rough handling and out-right bullying. And so, as payback, Bilbo slipped away from his friend, went back to the fortress, keeping mind to be quiet and stay out of sight, making full use of his Hobbit features, he slipped into the King’s room and stole his fanciful looking crown in which he’d placed aside at that moment. The crown had been nothing but a bunch of twigs with green vines and flowers running through it as to match the summer season, a metal was woven into it as to keep it all discreetly together. Bilbo had the crown still, back in his small hole in the Eagles’ nest which he decided to use as a small storage space until his return.

“You do not jest?” Arwen breathed, looking completely astounded.

Smirking slightly, Bilbo shook his head, and the Lady promptly burst into laughter, clapping her hands in the delight of this news, before she hushed herself. She pressing her lips together to prevent further laughter, but the grin of mirth upon her face was unmistakable. “I believe that my brothers have influenced you more than I originally thought,” she then turned to the other Elf, “Is he finished?”

“Yes, milady,” the seamstress bowed her head in agreement, “They will be completed before the party this eve. I will send my younger sister to deliver them to Mr Baggins as she works in the palace walls. Valenteen is her name.” she offered and Bilbo’s face brightened with recognition.

“Ah, yes,” Bilbo smiled and nodded to the seamstress, “She and I are acquainted, though she seemed rather busy when I saw her last,” he frowned in slight concern, “Will she be adverse on doing this extra chore?”

The Elf shook her head, a spark in her eyes as she looked down at the young Hobbit like she knew something that he was surely missing, “She would be honoured to deliver your fresh robes. She has only sung high praises for you since your arrival in Rivendell.”

Tilted his head slightly in confusion, thinking that her words odd and a feeling like she was amused by her own words. Before he could comment further, Awren interrupted and thanked the woman before turning to leave, gesturing for Bilbo to follow. For some strange reason, Bilbo felt like Arwen was in on some kind of large elaborate joke with the way her knowing eyes gazed down at Bilbo. But he merely shook off his suspicions, knowing that if there was a danger, she would no doubt tell him immediately. In this case, Bilbo would allow her to tell him in her own time.

Trapped in his own thoughts, Bilbo missed the way a young Elf eyed him, a hunger in his eyes as he looked Bilbo up and down. He also missed the way Arwen turned and sent the Elf her most chilling glare, for she knew this particular Elf was not someone worthy of even a second of Bilbo’s attention. He missed the way the male Elf froze up and then practically ran away in the opposite direction. Bilbo also missed the smug-looking tilt to Arwen’s lips when the male elf did this. He missed it all…

* * *

Bilbo was walked towards the library, wanting to read a few random texts to pass the day away, before he had to get ready for the party that Elrond had insisted in throwing in his honour. Just as he was walking passed the courtyard, he was interrupted from his inner thoughts by loud laughing and a calling of his name. Snapping his head to the left, he saw the suspicious sight of the twins jogging up to him, bows and arrows in hand, with large grins on there faces.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Bilbo stood to a stop and waited for them to catch up, continuing his walking when they were nearly beside him, allowing them to walk beside him if they wished to. “What are you two up to?” Bilbo questioned, suspicion dripping from his tone.

“Whatever do you mean, Bo?” Elladan reciprocated, hands folded behind his back in a picture of innocence, but Bilbo knew better. With growing up in the dangerous care of Elladan and Elrohir, Bilbo knew more often than not when the twins were planning some sort of mischief, and he also knew that if he were in their sights, he’d be an active part, whether he planned it or not. Bilbo still vividly remembered all those times that they’d all been lined up before a stern and angry looking Bella and Elrond, in any manner of mess from their prank, looking shameful and chastised.

Giving them a long side-look, Bilbo huffed at their matching grins, a small smile twitching at his lips in turn, though he tried to smother it. However, from the way the twins’ grins widened, they’d caught it anyways - damn Elf Sight!

“You know exactly what I mean,” Bilbo huffed, doing his best to imitate a normal Hobbit, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about all those times you got me in trouble! Troublemakers, both of you.” Bilbo declared as he wagged his finger at the Elf duo.

“Yes,” Elladan started, looking considerate, “We did start it, but,”

“You were the one that always took it that step further.” Elrohir finished a delightful grin upon his face.

They had completely stopped now, the twins moving in front of him to stop him in his tracks, Bilbo looking up at them with blatant exasperation which only made them grin wider. “Say, Bilbo,” Elladan started, looking all things diabolical.

“We saw that bow that you had when you came in,” Elrohir continued, looking completely identical to his twin beside him.

“We were wondering if you’ve gotten any better than last time you handled one,” Elladan tagged on, looking challenging at Bilbo.

Instantly, Bilbo’s wariness flew out the window as he grinned outright, a determined glint in his green eyes as he looked from one twin to the other, the thrill of competition filling him, “Alright, let me get my bow.” Bilbo grinned at them before he started to jog to his room, intent on getting his handmade bow and arrows to show the twins who the better marksman was.

Not three hours later, Bilbo, Elladan and Elrohir were stood in a line, in front of Lord Elrond, twigs and leaves stuck in their hair as they looked ashamed and apologetic. Elrond, in turn, wore a stern expression upon his face as he looked down at each one of them and Bilbo had a small sense of déjà vu. Looking down at his mud-stained feet, Bilbo knew that he should feel embarrassed, or in some sort of state of shame, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel that. In truth, Bilbo had been having fun, reliving his childhood (though he did feel bad that it had been at the expense of others) and couldn’t bring himself to feel regret…

In the first hour of their competition, Bilbo had proved himself to be a great marksman with his bow and arrows, hitting the bullseye with every release, no matter if he were running, rolling or trying to hit a moving target. The twins had been equally matched and they released so many shots that the boards were riddled with the tears that their arrows had made, making them look worn and bedraggled. That was when Bilbo had a great idea, which was to use the foliage of the surrounding the area to hit certain targets around the forest. This had developed into a game of tag, in which they had tried to shoot at one another with their arrows, but with the rule to only catch the clothes of the assailant than actually harming them. They had gone a few rounds and Bilbo had been cut on the cheek by a stray arrow, in which would have gone in his shoulder if he hadn’t moved in time. After that near incident, they decided to scour the Homely Home for any impossible targets, using the coverage of the forest to keep them hidden, shooting at the apples that a servant had been walking by with, shooting through someone’s tall hat, making targets of the food trays that the servants went by holding, generally making a mess whilst the servants scrambled and attempted to dive for cover. Soon, guards had been sent out to take out the ‘attacker’, which the twins and Bilbo had turned into a game as they ran through the forest, shooting arrows as they went and laughing. It was a given that they were caught, the guards looking surprised as they held Bilbo’s up by the scruff of his jacket as he looked up at them with an expression to portray his apology. That hadn’t lasted long though as the twins came out of the hidden foliage, laughing and pointing at Bilbo, saying that he lost as he was caught first, Bilbo flipping out of the guard’s lax hold had argued back, stating that he would have won if Elladan hadn’t thrown that stick in Bilbo’s path, tripping him up. They had argued that point as the guards dragged them through the halls (probably getting some déjà vu as well from the last time they’d taken the twins and Bilbo through the halls, arguing over a game that one or the other had cheated on) until they stopped by Elrond’s study… It had been fun while it lasted…

Now, here they were, stood in front of Elrond as he glared at each of them in turn, looking the picture of ‘disappointed parent’. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing?”

There was a moment of silence as the twins looked at one another, trying to silently goad the other into answering first, in the face of their angry father. Rolling his eyes, Bilbo spoke up, knowing that the longer they stayed quiet, the more they got angry, “We were having an archery competition.”

“And why did you not have his competition in the range?” Elrond questioned, eyebrow raised expectantly at his sons, who shifted uncomfortably.

“We ruined the targets…” Elladan trailed off, looking apologetic.

“And how did you end up in the forest?” Elrond questioned, looking as patient as ever.

“That was my idea…” Bilbo raised his hand slightly, feeling awkward (he was nearly an adult, damn it), “I thought we could play the game of something I’d seen in a Man’s village called ‘hide and seek’, and try to snag one another’s clothes when we found them and chased them… But we stopped after I got a cut on my cheek from a passing arrow…” Bilbo trailed off, feeling like he was a child once again.

“And then?”

This time Elrohir spoke up, “I had the idea of using the servants’ food trays as moving targets…”

“And when the guards came?”

Elladan nodded his head, knowing that it was his turn to confess to his part in the whole game, “I suggested that we run and whoever was caught first lost the game. Bilbo lost.” he tagged on, unable to resist.

“You tripped me!” Bilbo started, glaring up at the cheating Elf.

“Sore loser.”

“Cheater.”

“ _Enough_!” Elrond interrupted before they could really get into their bickering, giving them all such a chilling glare that they clammed up straight away, coming to attention as to not attract Elrond’s ire onto them. There was silence for a moment as all three stood tall and facing forward, though it was clear as day to Elrond that they all wanted nothing more than to run away. Silently, Elrond eyed the cut upon Bilbo’s cheek, the small wound had opened up once again, the blood sluggishly starting to make its way down, “All of you will not leave my side for the entire evening, if you insist on acting like children, then I shall treat you as such. Also,” he went on before any of them could interrupt or protest, “You will be cleaning out the stables for a whole week. Now leave and clean yourselves up for the party,” Elrond dismissed, all three of them bowing slightly at his firm command, and then turned to leave when Elrond spoke up again, “Bilbo, you will stay here so I can clean your wound.”

Freezing on the spot, Bilbo watched forlornly as the twins left, both looking back at him with apologetic gazes (they both felt quite bad about hurting their Hobbit, even if it was just a small graze to the cheek that Bilbo didn’t even seem to compute). Bilbo sighed as he turned back to Elrond, following the Elf until they were further into his study and he gestured for Bilbo to climb onto a high stool.

With minimal struggle, Bilbo sat upon the wooden stool, swinging his feet lightly as he awaited for Elrond to come back with his personal medical kit that he kept close at hand for ‘just in case’ purposes. As soon as Elrond came back, he wasted no time in patting at the wound with a bit of alcohol, Bilbo barely holding in a hiss as he did so, his face twitching with the effort to not give in to the small reaction of pain. Rubbing alcohol into the wound was always the worst thing about getting an injury of any kind; Bilbo remembered when he got the deep scar over his eye, a departing gift from the white orc he’d fought, and how he was in tears as he rubbed alcohol into the deep cuts, blood blinding him and hands shaking from the shock and pain of it - it had only gotten worse when he’d been forced to stitch it up with a bit of string off of his frayed clothes, the cut was much too deep…

“This brings back memories,” Bilbo half-joked, thinking about getting into trouble with the twins as he forced the memory of battle from his mind.

“Indeed…” Elrond muttered as he picked up a small wooden tub that had some pink paste inside, dipping his finger into it before smearing it over Bilbo’s wound. The paste was batter than the alcohol as it sent a soothing and cooling sensation over the heat of the wound, “Though if my memory serves me correctly, your little escapades with my children were never so deadly when you were younger. That arrow could have easily gone through your head.” Elrond lightly reprimanded as he stuck a square of white padding over the injury as to finish it up and then he moved onto Bilbo’s less severe injuries from when he’d been tripped and fallen in the foliage (Bilbo hadn’t even noticed his skinned knees).

“I would have been fine. The arrow was going for my shoulder, but when I moved out of the way, I slipped and that’s when it caught my cheek. I would have been fine either way.” Bilbo reassured, sitting patiently as Elrond rolled up his trousers to just above his knees so he could get to the knees properly.

“Not that I would any way approve, but I believe that if your mother were here, she would have been very proud of your marksman talents,” Elrond admitted in a low voice, looking up at Bilbo slightly from his knees to see the Hobbit smiling sadly and gently down at Elrond. After that, Bilbo’s knees were cleaned and wrapped in the same paste and bandages as his face, and then was told to get back to his room to wash and then get dressed when his clothes were delivered.

In a few minutes, he was in his rooms and removing his stained clothes, throwing them on the floor for him to later organise as he poured his bath with all the oils and scents that he could, wanting to relax his strained muscles from the strenuous activities of the day. If he had to go to bed now, he would have happily done so, but with the party in less than two hours, Bilbo knew that he had a whole evening of making nice and dancing to look forward to. Though Bilbo highly doubted that anyone would want to dance with him, Bilbo being so much smaller than an Elf that it would be awkward if he were to attempt it.

After washing his hair, making sure that all the twigs and leaves were out of his curls, Bilbo settled back down and pulled out an oil bottle to rub into his skin, enjoying the lavender smell as he did so. Calloused hands ran over his own skin, minutely tracing the scars that littered his skin, some deeper and scarring than others. Distantly, Bilbo traced the cut on his cheek, the bandage and paste removed so that he could wash properly - he’d redo it when he was dry again - picturing a light, barely-there scar that would soon fade in a few years, only detectable when his skin was highly tanned from the summer sun. The paste that Elrond smothered in it would surely help in not scarring the skin as well.

When he was finally finished, he picked up a towel and wrapped it around his waist, making sure to grab another, smaller one, as he walked into his room, intent on putting on light garments before Valenteen were to arrive - it wouldn’t do for her to see him in such a state of undress once again. He looked at his hair in the provided mirror and decided to do something with it for the oncoming part. Going to his bag that was still half-filled with seemingly random objects and belongings, Bilbo pulled out a nicely carved wooden box. When he opened it, he revealed a half a dozen beads and clasps that he could braid into his copper curls and keep them at least partially tamed for the night to come (though the oils he’d used on his hair seemed to have done a splendid job in taming the frizziness of the adventurous day he’d subjected it to.

Braiding was actually part of the Hobbit culture, but it was usually only reserved for woman (not that Bilbo cared) and only on special occasions. Bilbo had been forced to learn in his youth, despite his loud moaning and groaning as he begrudgingly did the near-impossible task with a Hobbit’s curly hair, but Bella had been insistent on that part of Bilbo’s Hobbit culture lessons as she sat before him and made him practice on her own dark curls. In comparison to Bilbo’s, Bella’s hair was untameable and so, when he learnt to fix Bella’s hair, fixing his own hair was a piece of cake, which he usually braided when he was travelling and on special occasions.

Gathering a portion of his hair, Bilbo made a parting and got to work, his talented fingers carding through the damp strands to fix them this way and that. He used a few normal clasps that he’d gotten from some stalls as he braided the left side of his head, using plats that were in various sizes, and then used a large clip to secure the plats and curls away from his face. Then, with the right side, he braided a few plats like the left side but left them loose and free to bounce about his face and head. For the right side, he’d used a bead that he’d been gifted by a Dwarf that he and his mother had saved, one that labelled Bilbo as a warrior, a saviour, that was the one that he platted into the biggest braid and left it to dangle in plain sight right above his ear. There was another bead that he’d gotten from a different Dwarf when he was younger, a Master Nori if Bilbo’s memory was correct, who’d given it to Bilbo as a birthday gift - though he’d never told Bilbo what it had meant and when Bilbo had asked, the Dwarf had simply smiled something mischievous and then he’d left, presumedly to go back to his family that he’d left behind for his current trip. Bilbo would always remember that Dwarf, as it had been the first Dwarf he’d ever met…

Just when he was finished putting the finishing touches to his hair, a knock came at the door and opened before Bilbo could even deny or grant entry. When the person walked it, it showed to be Valenteen, a pleased smile to her face as she walked into the room with a pile of clothes that were to be his attire for the evening.

“Hey, Valenteen,” Bilbo greeted warmly with a small smile as he walked over to see the clothes.

“Bilbo, hi,” the Elf smiled, her pale cheeks bearing a small dusting of pink as she looked at him and then he saw his styled hair and her eyes widened, “Oh, wow, that looks nice.” she complimented, somehow looking a little nervous in Bilbo’s eyes.

“Thanks, thought I’d neaten it up for the party,” Bilbo smiled, up at her, “You’re going too right? Do you want me to plat your hair?” he offered with a polite smile.

He didn’t think that the Elf would actually say ‘yes’, knowing that the eternal being preferred their hair to be long-flowing and elegant, but when she shyly nodded her head, Bilbo had to blink hard to make sure that he saw that right. When the colour to her cheeks grew in intensity, Bilbo realised that he’d been silent for a bit too long as he mentally shook himself and jerkily nodded his head, “Er, yeah, I can do that, of course. But I think you’ll have to sit on the floor for me to reach your hair properly. If you don’t mind.” Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck, feeling slightly awkward for reasons unknown to him.

“Okay,” she agreed and then made her way to sit in front of the bed, allowing Bilbo to climb on top of it and reach her dark brown hair.

Grabbing his box of clasps, Bilbo looked at the straight hair and a million ideas, from simple to eccentric filtered through his mind, a lot could be done with long straight hair than short curly hair. Before he got an idea in his head, he asked her, “Do you have a preference? Simple or extravagant?”

“Just do what you feel like you feel like doing,” Valenteen offered with a small wave of her hand, a tiny smile to her face and her cheeks heated more when she felt Bilbo gently threading his fingers into her hair, tentative and careful in his movement, as if fearful of harming her. That just made him even more endearing in her eyes.

Quickly, Bilbo got lost in his work, nimble fingers carding through hair, manipulating hair like he manipulated a piece of wood and carving knife in his hand. Valenteen sat there for a very long time, nervous about what he was doing and curious as to why it was taking so long, having thought he would do something like his own style, but the more he gently tugged at her hair, the more she felt like it was something completely different and ‘extravagant’.

When Bilbo slid the last clasp in, he looked over his work with assessing eyes and then nodded with a small smile, “Finished.” he grinned, feeling like this was the best design yet (he’d probably out-braid a dwarf if an opportunity were to arrive). “Hold on. I need to get an extra mirror for you to see the back,” he told her as she stood up to face the long mirror in his room, trying to turn her head to look at the design properly.

When he returned, he held the mirror up while she sat on his chair, holding it at an angle so that she could see the design, when she gasped in shock, Bilbo couldn’t hold back his grin of pride. With her hair, he’d been able to weave the brunette stands into a circular braid that resembled a rose, the braid fading out towards the edges of her hair, leaving the majority of it to flow as freely as before.

“Bilbo…” Valenteen breathed, completely shocked, “It’s beautiful…”

“A rose for Valenteen,” he grinned, amused at his own pun and laughing when the brunette rolled her eyes playfully in the mirror. Then he jumped up and handed her the small mirror, “Wait a moment!” he exclaimed as he went to one of the vases in his room that was filled to the brim with flowers. He picked up five small white flowers that he knew to be called gypsophila and two bright red miniature roses before walking back to her. Analytically, he eyed the style before slipping the flowers in, each one placed strategically as to enhance the braid and so that they wouldn’t fall out if she shook her head too hard. When he was done, he showed her again and she gave him a large grateful grin that was so wide and genuine that he couldn’t help but give one back. “Now, it’s perfect.” he nodded.

“Thank you so much, Bilbo,” She raised her hair as if to touch it, but seemed to think better of it as she forced her hands to return to her sides, “It truly is a work of art.” she complimented and then stood up.

“I think I’ve got to get dressed now,” Bilbo smiled, knowing that Elrond would be wondering where he was by now. He quickly caught her slightly crestfallen expression but shrugged it off as she stood and smiled down at him, obviously pleased with her hair for the party that night. “I’ll see you at the party, right?”

Valenteen smiled and nodded, before she looked shyly away, suddenly nervous, “Bilbo,” she became but seemed hesitant to continue.

“Yes?” he encouraged.

“Will you save me a dance?” Valenteen questioned, thick, dusty eyelashes brushing her cheeks as she looked coyly at him.

Bilbo simply smiled brightly, “Yeah sure,” he agreed, “I’ll probably save you a song as well, learnt a lot of those on the road and my mum taught me a couple of Hobbit songs before she passed. I can probably teach you sometime, my friend.” Bilbo grinned, knowing that the Elves would be completely astounded by his odd singing.

Valenteen looks startled, taken aback for a second before her bright smile turned a little sad and understanding, confusing Bilbo. She nodded all the same, “I would be delighted, Bilbo. Thank you, again, for my hair.” and then she left without another word or waiting for Bilbo’s.

Feeling slightly confused, Bilbo shook his head from the manner and took his pile of clothes, swapping his loose, tan trousers for black with dark green leather stripes sown delicately into the sides. The shirt was a similar dark green, trimmed in a pale green, the front split at the bottom and travelled down to his mid-thigh, the sleeves of the shirt coming down to his wrists and then the top of it extending over the back of his hand in a point that reached his knuckles, a loop of string at the end to go around his middle finger. The collar of the shirt was an inch high, with an inch of a gap at the front, a small illustration of a single leaf on each side of the gap. Last to go on was a dark green leather vest that was trimmed in black and fashioned into a large ‘V’ for the collar of the vest, the shoulders sowed with a strip of black leather. The sides of the vest were split and bound together with black leather cords, Bilbo having to pull on both sides to fasten the leather vest around himself, tying them off and then tucking the remaining string out of sight.

Finally finished, Bilbo looked at himself in the mirror, feeling a little uncomfortable as the clothes clung to his form, leaving very little to the imagination. But that was the way with Elves and their particular fashion, which all races had: Elves wore long clothing that was form-fitting, the material usually of something sturdy and silky; Dwarrow clothing was all layers and thick material, but their shoes were peculiar as they were all clunky and fashioned from strong metals such as iron or steel; Mans clothing was similar to a Hobbit’s in material, but their trousers covered their angles, their shoes a frail leather and their colours dark or neutral; Hobbit clothing was bright and outlandish, their trousers going to mid-calf and their feet bare of any protection or cover. Bilbo was different in a Hobbit aspect as he didn’t wear bright colours as doing so meant catching the eyes of trouble and an inability to blend in with the foliage.

Shrugging off his uncomfortableness, Bilbo left his room and went to the party hall, in which Elrond would be waiting for him, the party most likely in full swing.

Before Bilbo even came down to the adjacent corridor, he heard the music and the cheer of Elves that were close to being hella drunk (the young Elves anyways). Smiling slightly, Bilbo walked into the party hall, eyeing the Elves that were dancing with one another, drinking and letting loose from their usual stiff seriousness that they rarely shed themselves from. Slipping through the crowds, completely undetected, Bilbo sought Elrond out until he found the Elven Lord at the front of the room, eyes searching the entrance for Bilbo - obviously having missed the small Hobbit when he’d slipped in.

“My Lord Elrond,” Bilbo greeted respectfully, unable to help a grin when Elrond appeared to be startled, eyes snapping down to meet emerald green, “How kind of you to throw this party in my honour. I apologise for my lateness, but I was busy helping Valenteen prepare for the party.”

Elrond nodded his head, a small smile to his lips as he folded his hands behind his back, “Yes, I and many others noticed.” Elrond commented, nodding in the direction of a semi-large crowd of Elves that were chattering across the hall, gathering around something, or someone. “The design of her hair is very beautiful, I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair manipulated in such a way.” Elrond remarked as he looked down at Bilbo’s pleased smile, “How did you learn such a thing?”

Teasingly, Bilbo shrugged, a half smile tugging at his lips to show his smugness, “I got bored one day.”

“I see…” was all the Elven Lord replied with as if Bilbo’s answer was answer enough (and for all those that knew him, it was).

The party was in full swing after that, Elves dancing and moving amongst one another in graceful steps, the whole thing choreographed with seemingly little effort or time. Bilbo watched for a while until Valenteen was able to get away from the crowd and Bilbo walked up to her with an offer of a dance, which Bilbo was able to just execute after observing all the movements around him, Val laughing cheerfully as Bilbo fumbled on some of the more trickle movements as the Elves twirled and leapt around the hall. After that, Bilbo was swept into many more dances with strangers and friends alike, Gwendoline doing her own little dance with him as she asked if they could dance in the traditional Man’s dance with a male and female partner.

Extremely drunk and wanting a song with a few more words than a deep melody in Sanderian, Bilbo interrupted before another song could start and gestured with the violin.

“Alright! I’m gonna play you a little Hobbit song that my mum showed me years ago! It’s a little more upbeat and the dance is just linking arms, running around and stamping your foot and clapping your hands to the beat. Right! Let’s go!”

_~"There's an inn of old renown_   
_Where they brew a beer so brown_   
_Moon came rolling down the hill_   
_One Hevnsday night to drink his fill.”~_

The Elves of the hall all looked confused, obviously having never heard of a Hobbit drinking song, like Bilbo’s mother had always taught him when she indulged in alcohol on the anniversary of her husband’s death. The song was particularly cheery, despite the time of year, but Bella’s response was that Bungo was back with their Great Lady and that it was something to celebrate.

Elrond looked particularly pleased as he started to clap along, familiar with the odd Hobbit song that his old friend used to sing loudly and unashamed.

Never minding the Elves’ confusion, Bilbo carried on, building up in tempo and moving the bow against the violin stings in brisk sawing as to get the bounce to the song, a large, drunken grin on his face.

_~"On a three-stringed fiddle there_   
_Played the Ostler's cat so fair_   
_The hornèd Cow that night was seen_   
_To dance a jig upon the green._   
_Called by the fiddle to the_   
_Middle of the muddle where the_   
_Cow with a caper sent the_   
_Small dog squealing._   
_Moon in a fuddle went to_   
_Huddle by the griddle but he_   
_Slipped in a puddle and the_   
_World went reeling._   
_Downsides went up- hey!_   
_Outsides went wide._   
_As the fiddle_   
_Played a twiddle_   
_And the Moon slept till Sterrenday._   
_Upsides went west- hey!_   
_Broadsides went boom._   
_With a twiddle on the fiddle_   
_In the middle by the griddle_   
_And the Moon slept till Sterrenday.”~_

By this point, the Elves had given into the beat, starting to dance around, the rest of the band trying to keep up with Bilbo as he jumped all over the stage, soon running into the floor as he started to dance while singing and playing (an amazing feat for one who was not a Hobbit, who had a keen ability to multitask with how many children they give birth to).

_~"Dish from off the dresser pranced,_   
_Found a spoon and gaily danced._   
_Horses neighed and champed their bits_   
_For the bloodshot Moon had lost his wits._   
_Well, cow jumped over, Dog barked wild,_   
_Moon lay prone and sweetly smiled._   
_Ostler cried, "Play faster, Cat!_   
_Because we all want to dance like that."_   
_Gambol and totter till you're_   
_Hotter than a hatter and you_   
_Spin all akimbo_   
_Like a windmill flailing._   
_Whirl with a clatter till you_   
_Scatter every cotter and the_   
_Strings start a-pinging as the_   
_World goes sailing.”~_

Bilbo finished that verse and then the Elves, encouraged by the repetition of the chorus of the song, started to sing as well, loudly and as briskly as Bilbo did so.

_~"Downsides go up- hey!_   
_Outsides go wide._   
_You can clatter_   
_With your platter_   
_But the Moon slept till Sterrenday._   
_Upsides go west- hey!_   
_Broadsides go boom._   
_With a batter and a clatter_   
_You can shatter every platter_   
_But the Moon slept till Sterrenday.”~_

Then Bilbo started to sing one line, tempting the Elves to repeat with the same drunken gusto, grinning as they did so, delight and alcohol reddening his cheeks.

_~"Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle_   
_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle_   
_Hey-yey-yey-yey-oh-ho_   
_Hey-yey-yey-yey-oh-ho_   
_Hey-hey-din-gen-do_   
_Hey-hey-din-geli-do_   
_Hoo-rye-and-hott-a-cott-a ho_   
_Hoo-rye-and-hott-a-cott-a ho ho_   
_Hott-a-cott-a-hotta-ko_   
_Hott-a-cott-a-ko-cott-a-ko-ho_   
_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle-hi-ho_   
_Fi-fo-fiddle-diddle-hi-ho_   
_Ho fiddlee-ding-galli-do_   
_Ho fiddlee-ding-galli-do_   
_Hoo-rye-hoo-rye oops-oops- ay!_   
_Hoo-rye-hoo-rye oops-oops- ay!_   
_Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo_   
_Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo_   
_Hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-hotta-cotta-mi-fo-fo!”~_

Bilbo finished stumping his feet to the last bit, and then temporarily stopped sinning as he bellowed out, “One last time!” and carried on singing.

_~"Downsides go up- hey!_   
_Outsides go wide._   
_With a twiddle on the fiddle_   
_In the middle by the griddle_   
_And the Moon slept till Sterrenday._   
_Upsides go west- hey!_   
_Broadsides go boom._   
_With a batter and a clatter_   
_You can shatter every platter_   
_But the Moon slept till Sterrenday.”~_

With that Bilbo lifted his bow from the violin strings and there was a moment of silence before the Elves laughed and clapped uproariously, Bilbo drinking in the praise as he laughed boisterously and took a few sweeping bows, hopping onto the stage to give the Elf his violin back. He took one last sweeping bow before he jumped off the stage, the music soon returning back to the usual Elven tempo.

Making his way over to Elrond and the twins, he smirked at the twins' shocked expressions - Elrond was just pleased. “Did you enjoy the performance, children?” Bilbo questioned in a snooty tone, nose pointed in the air and arms crossed, though he couldn’t complete the look as he couldn’t keep the delighted grin from his face.

Elrond simply nodded, secretly amused by his sons’ shocked expressions, “I have not heard a Hobbit Drinking Song in many years. The Cat and the Moon was one of your mother’s favourites, though it was originally your father’s.” Elrond smiled, knowing how much the song meant to Bilbo.

“I know,” Bilbo’s wide grin was smaller but no less genuine as he looked up at Elrond with bright green eyes that were so much like his mother’s that it hurt Elrond’s heart for a second.

“We didn’t know you could play the violin!” Elladan finally exclaimed, finally finding the words.

“Yeah, my mum taught me. She said that every Hobbit knows how to play at least one instrument and the violin is apparently the Took’s traditional instrument. I know how to play the flute as well, which is the Baggins’ traditional instrument, but if I played that instrument then I couldn’t have sung my song.” Bilbo defended with an unbothered shrug.

“Can’t beat that logic,” Elrohir muttered under his breath as Bilbo was dragged back onto the dance floor by both Gwendoline and Arwen, who were gushing about his performance.

The rest of the night was danced away and Bilbo was surprised that the Elves really knew how to party and also surprised by their low tolerance of alcohol, drinking more than one challenging Elf under the table one after the other as he remained tipsy. That night, many Elves would try to remember the appearance-deceiving Hobbits that apparently could take a lot more alcohol than should be ever possible.

In all, Bilbo had a good night and laughed with many friend and those he considered an extended family, not noticing when the twins physically dragged away a drunk Elf that had been about to touch Bilbo to guide him away from the party for a bit of private dancing, Awren successfully distracting him as she goaded him into telling hilarious story after story about his many misadventures, both alone and with companions.

It was incredibly late in the morning when the party finally wound down and Bilbo was able to find his room, drunkenly chuckling to himself as he curled into the covers. Distantly he thought that he’d change his clothes and undo the braids from his hair when he woke up, before slipping away into his beckoning dreamscape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song isn’t mine! I don’t claim it as much as I wish I could!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WBKC5-6wc0
> 
> This song is amazing and it’s legit the Best Hobbit Song Ever! If you get a chance, just listen to it. You wont regret it!


	4. The Shire on the horizon

Bilbo stumbled into his room, exhausted and stinking of manure. Today had been his last day of the punishment for reigning chaos down on the Elven home with the twins. Honestly, Bilbo didn’t mind the work (other than the stench), but the twins had complained about the work the entire time, calling it demeaning, moaning about how they didn’t deserve all this, and that Elrond was being completely unreasonable. Bilbo had usually managed to get them to shut up on most days with the reminder that Elrond could extend their punishment if he so wished, making them hunker down and get on with the task. Other times, Bilbo’s comment did nothing and his sensitive ears were subjected to their bellyaching for hours on end - which was a worse punishment than the initial chore, in Bilbo’s opinion.

Nonetheless, it was all over now and Bilbo quickly shed off his old stained clothes and bundled them in a corner so that he could give them to the cleaners later. He had every thought in mind to have a nice warm bath, cleaning every possible smell off of him until he smelled of nothing but the lavender oil that he favoured whilst washing.

An hour later, it only just struck mid-day and Bilbo found himself rather bored. This was not a particularly new thing to Bilbo, for his mind and body was used to the constant exhaustion of education and travelling (by foot more often than pony). He’d found himself quite preoccupied during his stay in Rivendell, with all the catching up and pleasantries of finally resting his feet and laughing freely, but now he found his fingers twitching, his mind whirling and his eyes shifting. He needed to do something and fast.

Casting his mind back to how he usually preoccupied his boredom, Bilbo found that he hadn’t done any considerable fighting in a while, not since the Eagle War at least. Travelling along the road since then, Bilbo had barely gotten into fights, (except from that time living in Murkwood and being attacked by those spiders and then arrested for trespassing) only having have to show his blade to the potential danger, the men only scoffing before turning tail and leaving the pub when they saw the chilling look in his eyes.

Mind made-up, Bilbo bounced off of his bed he’d been laying on and walked over to his dresser where most of his weapons were lying. He wasted no time in picking up his dagger sheaths, in which he counted twelve before he wrapped it around his right thigh and tied it into place, smiling at the comfort it brought at having it close at hand once again. In a Man’s settlement, Bilbo would never have even shed his weapons whilst he slept, but in Elrond’s home, Bilbo felt it rude for him to be so openly armed as if he held no trust for the Rivendell Elves. As a result, Bilbo forced himself to leave his more notable weapons in his room, which was his bow and arrows, his swords and his daggers. The only weapons he kept on his person were his smaller daggers, which he was able to conceal between the lines of his clothes (though the Elven clothing made it harder to properly conceal the daggers from sharp Elven eyes). Next, Bilbo lifted up his thick, brown leather belt, securing it into place around his hips, before tying his swords onto his left side, quickly checking the two swords, Sting and Burn’s, conditions before leaving them in their sheaths and starting for the door.

In no time, Bilbo meandered through the hallways and stairs, making his way easily to the training grounds that were on the opposite side of the building to the archery range. The training area was really just an open field, in which the instructor would stand at the front and dozens of Elves would follow the sequences of stances from behind, another Elf looking over the students with sharp eyes to try and catch and correct any mistakes. There was also a large rack that displayed many weapons of different and repeated variations, all cleaned, sharpened and ready for use. If Bilbo were still looking for a proper sword to suit him, he would have been examining the blades in an instant, but he was quite content with his double swords that he’d grown quite comfortable with and survived through a war with.

So, passing the racks and the few Elves that were there, lightly training and socialising (there were no intense training sessions today), ignoring their odd looks as he found himself a half secluded spot in the back and started his work out that his mother had run him through more than once before she’d died. Honestly, he could do the small workouts in his sleep, he’d done them so much, but he stuck to the routine, press-ups, sit-ups and all sorts of excursuses until his muscles were properly stretched and were faintly burning from the slight over-excursion of them from his work-out and his cleaning of the stables that morning. With that done, Bilbo got a picture of a battle in his mind, one that he’d gone through many times before when doing this type of training.

Snapping his eyes open, he saw his opponent coming towards him, aggression and twisted anger standing their features, sword in hand with an intent to kill. Instantly, Bilbo’s sword, Sting was out and raised to block, in perfect form, a quick movement of it allowing Bilbo to escape from the pressure of the opponent’s sword, twisting and turning, now on his knees, to slice the attacker’s lower torso open, guts falling out and a strange noise escaping their dying throat. Instantly, Bilbo was on another would-be-murderer, parrying a strike and rolling to the side, flipping backwards effortlessly to avoid a blade that would have been his end. The attacker kept on advancing and another had joined him. They attack at the same time, Bilbo blocking and head-blow and then swiftly removing Burn from its sheath to block the attack to his side.

This carried on for an hour, Bilbo fending off pretend attacks, lost in his memories as he relived a battle, blocking, attacking, moving unconventionally in order to spare his own life and carry on fighting. He remembered in the battle when he’d sheathed his sword once to pull out one of his throwing daggers to hit something that was about to attack some helpless, crying kids, and so Bilbo did just that and threw his dagger into the bullseye several feet away, shocking the Elf spectators, who had taken to watching the Hobbit’s form of fighting, by such a fast and unexpected move. Bilbo carried on with his movements, completely unaware of the Elven spectators that he’d gained, moving with grace and speed that they had never seen in any other species other than their kin. Bilbo’s movement with his swords, as if they were an extension of his own being, told the surrounding Elves of the young Hobbit’s experience in battle, his noticeable scars providing that evidence even more so.

However, whilst the watching Elves’ hearts ached for someone so young to be so exposed to death and horror, they couldn’t look away from the beautiful, dangerous form that was the smaller being, green eyes shining with the brilliance of battle, copper hair like a blazing fire in the mid-day sun. The scene was simply beautiful and the Elves could definitely picture and fear and awe along with the Hobbit’s assailants’ expressions just before he hacked them down in a fast and merciful killing.

“Bilbo!” an Elf suddenly called out as soon as Bilbo had finished his kata, startling Bilbo and the entrapped Elves around him. From the crowd, out stepped a tall Elf, with a head full of blonde, weaving hair and radiant blue eyes. Everyone knew this Elf just from the presence of him alone, he was Glorfindel, the re-embodied, the High Elf, and yet he went completely undetected by the surrounding Elves as they had been so enraptured by the small Hobbit’s performance.

At the sight of the Elf, Bilbo grinned, skilfully and swiftly putting his swords away as he stood straight from his finishing stance, which had been at a crouch, sword drawn in front and behind. Bilbo’s grin was radiant and full of unadulterated joy, for he had not seen the ancient Elf for many years. Glorfindel had been a good friend of Bilbo’s mother and Bilbo remembered many a time in which the regal Elf had babysat him when Elrond thought the twins too irresponsible.

“Glorfindel!” Bilbo greeted back, hugging his old friend when the warrior bent down to do so. Then he leaned back and rubbed his nose against Bilbo’s, shocking the young Hobbit for a second, for it had been many years since someone had partaken in this Hobbit greeting of family, Bilbo hadn’t been on the receiving end of it since Bella had died - admittedly, Bilbo felt a small bit of moisture in his eyes when he realised this. But then the shock passed and Bilbo laughed with joy and did it back, making the golden-haired Elf grin and then pull back. “It is good to see you, Fratello.” Bilbo grinned, knowing that the Elf would know that word, despite not knowing a lot of Hobbitish.

Glorindel’s face practically glowed at the honourable, familial title, “I am glad to see you again, Titta otorno. It has been many moons and summers since we have last spoken and I find myself pleased that you have grown to be an epic and talented warrior. It feels as if it were yesterday that I was first showing you how to throw daggers and grip swords and now you have mastered the double blade, which is a commendable accomplishment.” he smiled, not even trying to hide his pride as Bilbo blushed and looked away from the honest face of the regal Elf.

“My ambitions stemmed from you, Glorfindel, as you well know.” Bilbo rose an eyebrow, his small smile coy as he looked up at the bashful Elf, which was answer enough. “Did you wish to spar me, my friend?”

“It had not been my intention,” Glorfindel confessed, “But I came here for I had grown intrigued by the gathered crowd. In all honesty, I had been on my way to find you.”

Bilbo chuckled, “Well, I guess you found me. Did you want to have supper together?” he offered, wanting to catch up with his friend before he left for The Shire. 

“We shall,” Glorfindel nodded, but then his lips twitch in the corner which Bilbo knew to be the closest thing this Elf would ever come to a smirk, “But as we are here, I see no reason to pass up a competition of skill.”

“I knew you wanted to spar,” Bilbo grinned outright, “Every time my mother and I came here, you would challenge her to a fight. I remember that you would always beat her in a sword fight, but you could never gain any ground when you competed with Conquers.” Bilbo smirked, emerald eyes twinkling in amusement with the back and forth banter.

Glorfindel’s own clear blue eyes were twinkling in the same amusement, “Indeed, I admit to your mother’s superior hand in our Conquers competition, but this is you and I. The results shall be different.”

Bilbo chuckled as he walked off to one end of the marked sparing area, a challenge in his eyes as they tracked the Elf’s movement to his own starting point, “We’ll see now, won't we.” he gave a last grin before he took out Sting and stood ready in position, as did Glorfindel.

There was a pause, everyone holding their collective breath as the opponents stared at one another, battle-ready with their swords bared and their muscles tense…

In a flash, they moved so fast that the watching Elves did a double-take. Immediately, it was plain to see that neither beautifully dangerous being was holding back on their abilities, speed and strength on Glorfindel’s side and flight and fire on Bilbo’s. Two swords met Glorfindel’s one in an echoing ring that had most wincing due to the abuse of their ears. Glorfindel shoved Bilbo away, with his sword, only for Bilbo to go with the momentum and use his wings to propel him further backwards. In a rush, Bilbo jumped over the High Elf with a beat of his wings, swinging his sword, though that was easily blocked by Glorfindel’s. On his feet, Bilbo used both of his swords, swinging them gracefully as he fought, gaining ground as the High Elf stepped back a little bit more at a time (it had been far too long since Glorfindel’s had a worthy opponent and war and battle had not intervened in his peaceful life since he’d had been brought back by the Valar).

However, as Bilbo saw an opening, thinking the fight won in his favour, he didn’t realise he’d gotten too cocky and soon found himself sprawled upon the floor after Glorfindel had swiftly sunk to the floor and flung his leg out in an arch, catching Bilbo’s legs unawares. Just like that, Bilbo was blinking owlishly up at the golden-haired, grinning Elf, a glinting silver sword at his throat.

“Do you yield?” questioned the High Elf, smugness pouring off of him in waves (Bilbo just knew it).

“I yield.” Bilbo conceded, knowing when he’d been beaten. He smiled up at his old friend as he retracted his sword and offered his hand, Bilbo gladly taking it and allowing the High Elf to settle him back on his feet. Bilbo picked up his fallen swords and sheathed them, ruffling and fluffing out his feathers to get rid of any remaining dirt lingering, “I had not expected that move from an Elf,” Bilbo spoke, a wide amused grin detectable in his tone, “I don’t believe it is part of your usual training.”  
Glorfindel grinned back, shaking his head, “Indeed, it is not, my friend. I learnt it from your mother.”

At that admission, Bilbo gave a bark of laughter and nodded his head, “Yes, I knew I’d recognised such a move.” he looked up at his friend with warm, twinkling emerald eyes.

“I believe this spar is won, though it had proven me a challenge to do so. Thank you, for our honourable fight, my young friend. May I interest you in the training yard showers and then we shall recede to my quarters to have our meal?”

“You may.” Bilbo nodded, following the golden-haired Elf as he was lead to the washroom, talking pleasantly amongst one another. Ignoring the following eyes of the surrounding Elves, both Hobbit and High Elf in their own little world as they laughed and bantered with one another as if they had never been parted before.

In the washroom, Bilbo stripped himself of his sweaty shirt, casting it aside for the moment as he picked up a sponge from the cool water and then began to rid himself of the sweat and grime of the fight and his previous kata, feeling as though the substances were beginning to mix in an uncomfortable, clinging sensation along his skin. Oblivious to Glorfindel’s stare as he wasted, Bilbo didn’t notice the way the impossibly blue eyes of his friend widened at the sight of so many battle scars that could have cost Bilbo his life (though Glorfindel had been told about the scars by a frantic Elrond when he’d called Glorfindel to his office upon the High Elf’s arrival back from Lothlórien). But Glorfindel had not known about the tattoos - though he didn’t think that Lord Elrond knew about them either.

There were only a few dotted around the small Hobbit, and they appeared to be a great significance to the Hobbit as well. On the side of Bilbo’s ribs, he bore a batch of deadly nightshade as to represent his mother and her name, and behind the flowers was an old book, the writing old and looked to be scripted in Hobbitish, the flowers and the book intertwined (perhaps the book represented Bilbo’s father in some way? If Glorfindel were to remember correctly, Bella’s husband had been a scribe of some kind before his untimely demise). On the front of his right shoulder was a red feather, the vane of the feather seemed to be splitting off into large Eagle birds that were the size of Bilbo’s hand, five of them circled down the Hobbit’s arm. Glorfindel thought for a moment that those tattoos were all there was, but then Bilbo’s wings shifted and an oddly styled script (Hobbitish?), a small paragraph was on his left shoulder blade, inked over the top of his scars and looked to be the most recent one of the bunch.

“Glory?” Bilbo questioned, using the High Elf’s old nickname from when he had been a child, “Are you well?”

“I am fine, Bil,” Glorfindel nodded, “But I had not realised the pain you have been in these past years,” he indicated the scars, “Nor had I known about the ink that had marked your skin. I don’t believe Lord Elrond is of knowledge of this either.”

“And I hope Elrond’s ignorance will stay that way,” Bilbo stated firmly before he seemed to calm himself down and had a soft look in his green eyes, “I don’t wish to worry him more than needed. I see how he acted when he saw the scar on my face,” Bilbo traced his padded finger down the thick scar, following the raised line as it curled to the side of his cheek, “He means well, but I am an adult, no matter what my age would state. I can look after myself and make my own decisions.”

There was a moments silence between them before Glorfindel nodded, “Your secret is safe with me, Bil,” he then finished with his washes, picking up a new shirt and leaving his old one for the maids to clean and deliver to his room later, Bilbo doing the same thing (a shirt of his own size as he’d had the foresight to bring one along with him). “Shall we.” he gestured to the exit, Bilbo nodded and following, both merrily talking as if nothing at all had just occurred.

That night, they dined and laughed, told stories of anything and everything, Bilbo including the new story of him and the twins terrorising the waiting staff from the tree-line. When they drank a little bit too much, Bilbo sang one of the many songs he’d learnt from his travelling, a Man’s song about a spoon and a cat with a fiddle. The night was relatively quiet and pleasant, in Bilbo’s opinion and he was glad to have had this time with his old friend before he had to leave for The Shire. That was when Bilbo shared his fear of not fitting in with his own species, Bilbo having been away from his place of birth so long, he’d nearly entirely forgotten what it looked like.

“Do not worry, my friend,” Glorfindel patted Bilbo on the shoulder, his large hand practically engulfing the joint, “With the way you sing, drink and dance, there’s no way you wouldn’t fit right in.”

* * *

Bilbo couldn’t believe the time that had passed since he’d gotten to Rivendell. As a child, he’d loved the peace and his fascination with Elves was unparalleled. He’d loved the food, the dancing and music, the culture and clothing, the height and their thinly pointed ears that just made them look even more deceptively delicate than they first appeared. As a child, Bilbo had loved to compare himself and other Elves, his height, his hair, his feet (he couldn’t believe a person’s feet could ever be so small!).

As an adult, Bilbo still found an appreciation for the things in Rivendell, he admired the peace and the silence, admired the structure built around the beauty of the waterfall, but this was not a place Bilbo could settle. Maybe he would, one day when he was old, tired and could feel his bones aching for rest whenever he got out of a chair.

But right now, after his experiences, after his travelling, his loss, his pain, Rivendell was not a place for Bilbo to settle for long, as he did not belong to an environment so graceful and… slow. Bilbo needed action, he needed to throw himself off a cliff and grin and laugh as he plummeted towards the ground, his wings catching him at the last second. He needed to hunt, silent and cautious and then victorious in his kill. He needed to build fires, sow his own clothes, snuggle into warm bodies of feathers in the night. Bilbo was just too wild for a place like Rivendell and already his fingers were twitching with the want to start travelling to The Shire (hopefully the new culture of the Hobbits would allow Bilbo to cast his mind away from all-things-travel while he was based there).

So, here he was, packing up the last of his things, placing a few Elven tunics in with his bag (he’d often found himself longing for some Elvish material in the mountains) and the other things he’d picked out of it in his time staying in Rivendell. He went to his dresser, where his weapons lay, putting them on one at a time, securing them to his person almost automatically, he’d done this so many times. With the last item of weaponry on him, his bow secured across his chest, Bilbo moved out of his room and into the hallway, allowing his feet to take him on a familiar path towards his mother’s room.

When he stepped in, he stood and stared around for a moment, taking in all the unique decoration, the dust-free sides, the crisply made bed. Bilbo could almost imagine that his mother was still alive if only in the washroom, singing a soft Hobbit melody that her mother used to sing to her in the nights when sleep evaded her. Opening his eyes, the image shattering, Bilbo moved to the wooden surface at the edge of Bella’s bed, picking up the envelope, with his name scrawled in her writing. The envelope was still sealed, unopened and preserved. Even now, Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to open it, though he didn’t know why.

It was an ache, deep within his chest, that had Bilbo looking away from it, and walking back to his room and towards his pack. Delicately, he placed the letter inside, silently looking at it for a moment longer before he closed the pack and started to tie it up, buckling his belongings away and then slinging it upon his back.

As he walked out, he went to the entrance of the Palace, smiling when he saw his friends all lined up, wanting to bid him goodbye and a safe journey.

“We’re all going to miss you, Bilbo,” Gwendoline stated as she leaned down to hug him, squeezing him slightly as to bid him a further, silent farewell.

Valenteen then stepped towards the Hobbit, a sweet smile along her face and a small braid in the side of her long hair, making Bilbo smile at the sight of it. She too leaned down and gave him a fierce hug, “I’m glad that you are my friend and I wish you safe travel and an early return so that you may show me more extravagant braids.” her smile grew into a grin as Bilbo laughed and nodded, giving her a promise to do so.

Then Glorfindel stepped up to the small Hobbit and leaned down to rub their noses together, bringing a smile to both. There were no words exchanged, but Bilbo got the message of love and want of his safe return.

Arwen smiled down at the Hobbit, crouching down so that they could take one another’s hands, Bilbo kissing the back of her’s as she turned over his hand and kissed his palm, lips like silvery silk against his rough skin. “Come back to us safely, Bilbo. Always remember that you have family here. Always.” she repeated a fierceness to his eyes that had Bilbo nodding quickly for fear of her forcing him to stay if he should refuse the title of family.

“I promise to be safe, sister,” Bilbo reassured, squeezing her hands one last time before letting go.

The twins came next as they grinned down at Bilbo with a mix of amusement and longing, obviously not wanting their little Hobbit partner in crime to leave once again, “We hope you return to us in good health, Bilbo.” Elladan started a sad smile to his lips.

“We hope that you return to us shortly.” Elorhir nodded, a sad smile of his own.

“I think you only want me back so that you can rematch me for our archery competition,” Bilbo told them, amused suspicion colouring his words.

“Rematch?” Elorhir questioned, amusement back in his eyes.

“Why would we desire a rematch when we won?” Elladan tagged on.

“I would have won if you hadn’t thrown that stick at me!” Bilbo defended himself, crossing his arms and cocking his hip, and although his body language screamed unimpressed, the grin on his face couldn’t be hidden.

“We admit to no such thing.” they denied simultaneously, sweeping their left hands to the side as if to dismiss the idea entirely. The silence between them only lasted a second before all three of them burst out laughing, the twins leaning down to hug Bilbo goodbye, ruffling his curls one last time before departing from him, allowing their father to say his last goodbyes.

Bilbo grinned up at Elrond, who looked pained in seeing his young ward leaving the safety of his halls. Elrond would want nothing more than to accommodate Bilbo until he was old and weary, but he also knew that the small Hobbit had a fire in his green eyes (green eyes so similar to his mother’s) that Elrond forced himself to let him go. Leaning down, Elrond rubbed their noses together, in a farewell, looking down at the smiling Hobbit as he promised, “You are always welcomed here, my nephew.”

“Thank you… Uncle.” Bilbo smiled shyly up at the Lord of Rivendell, glad to depart on such familial terms (though Bilbo had always seen them as family, having called Elrond ‘Uncle’ when he’d been a child).

Then, with a final wave, Bilbo went on his way, out of the familiar land that was Rivendell and towards The Shire, where Bilbo hoped to rediscover his origin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, hope you liked this!
> 
> I think the only reason I made this was because someone wrote on one of my previous stories that they’d like to see ‘overprotective elves’ or something along those lines. It was intended to be a short one-shot, but ended up being… this…
> 
> Anyways, it was hella fun to write, but the main story is up next so… catch you then, I guess!


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